


Hurricane

by orphan_account



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: HAPPY ENDING!!, Trans Genji, Trans Hanzo, Vignette, some homophobia, very backstoryey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 22:18:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7592413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The two children laid in the grass together, no real curfew tonight, no one to scold them for coming home late, just the two of them, laughing about nothing and everything. The city lights were too bright to allow many stars to filter through, but the reds and yellows and blues were their own kind of stars, neon and mesmerizing. Hanzo looked at their sibling’s face, cheeks rosy from the cooling evening and eyes bright from the excitement of the day. Hanzo thought of their dreams of seeing the world, becoming ninjas, fighting like the games they liked to play together- they had even dwelled on space travel. So much to do, Hanzo thought, and together, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hurricane

**Author's Note:**

> Background:  
> When in pov of hanzo, genji is referred (until later chapters) as ‘gozen’ and she/her. I wanted to keep the theme of their names being related to significant figures in Japanese folk history.  
> Even in genjis pov Hanzo’s nick name is hanzo. He was about five when the nickname came about, offered to him by his archery instructor after the samurai hanzo. Hanzo is reffered to, by genji, as she/her until genjis about 15, when he catches on to hanzo and refers to him as they/them.  
> In both of their pov, they refer to themselves as they/them.  
> ________________
> 
> thanks to a very special squid for requesting shimada brothers, oliver, and others for beta'ing this. hope you enjoy!

“Look, Hanzo!” The young child cried, running to let a small flower drift into their open hands. They spun around, the lights reflecting off of the river illuminating their cheeks and eyes, “I caught one!”

                The older sibling laughed, plucking the blossom from their hands and twirling around, falling back onto the grass, laughing as the other fell down too, pink petals falling on their smiles. Many families had begun to pack up for the night, letting the trees still after a day of picnics and friends, but the two children laid in the grass together, no real curfew tonight, no one to scold them for coming home late, just the two of them, laughing about nothing and everything. The city lights were too bright to allow many stars to filter through, but the reds and yellows and blues were their own kind of stars, neon and mesmerizing. Hanzo looked at their sibling’s face, cheeks rosy from the cooling evening and eyes bright from the excitement of the day. Hanzo thought of their dreams of seeing the world, becoming ninjas, fighting like the games they liked to play together- they had even dwelled on space travel. So much to do, Hanzo thought, and together, too.

+

                There were kimonos and yukatas and hair brushing and Hanzo was thirteen. The sharp pull on the long black hair prickled at the base of their scalp made them bite down on their lip as hard as they could until the ritual subsided. _No makeup yet_ , their maid had told them, _wait another year_. Secretly, Hanzo was okay with that. There was no aversion to the stuff, but a memory was lodged in their mind. They had told themself over and over that there was no way they could remember that far back, but there it was. Hanzo was five and sitting by their mother’s bedside, watching her clamp her eyelashes in some medieval looking thing before brushing them out with a black bristle. Her lips were swathed in some deep crimson, her cheeks too full for rouge to be necessary. She turned to her child, the pearl necklace clinking softly as she spoke something soft and sweet, just like she always did. She had died that year. Hanzo could not remember much of the funeral other than the anger they felt at the sound of their sibling crying. Gozen was not old enough to process death, why did she get to cry?

                The brush tugged again and they were snapped from their daydream. Hanzo sometimes wished their mother was still alive, they saw how a picture of her could make their father’s day worse- just by glancing at it. Although the idea was impossible, Hanzo almost felt guilty of her death, like they just stood by and let her pass. If only they had been older, then, maybe something would be different. They could have changed the outcome, they could have.

+

                _Genji._ They stopped at the name, rereading the title, _The Tale of Genji._ An old book. Dad’s library was huge, like _huge._ Huge as in a perfect place for hide and seek. If only Hanzo would actually play anymore. But _no, if I don’t study, I won’t pass my tests, and we’ll all die, little sister._ Hanzo was such a loser. But even if Hanzo wouldn’t break out of her shell once a month to run around anymore, they could still have fun. Fun, alone, in the empty library, just them and the books. Yep. Fun.

                They pulled the book off the shelf, the front cover looking like it had seen better days. The musty scent was overwhelming as they flipped to the title page, the name _Genji_ broad and bold and interesting. They had never read the book, it was too old, anyway, for it to be any good. But the name, yes, the name was good, it was cool.

                “Genji,” They said, flashing a cool, ‘I’m in fifth grade now’ smile at the mirror down at the end of the row. They added finger guns for effect. “Cool,” they said in English, wishing they had their awesome aviator shades on them. Hanzo had laughed at them, but Hanzo wore her school uniform even when they didn’t have school so, not cool.

                “What’s ‘cool’?” Their heart skipped a beat, noticing the imposing figure of their thirteen year old sister in the mirror.

                “Hanzo!” They cried, flipping around to meet them, “I’m- I- _hey!_ ” Hanzo was laughing, hand over her mouth. “What’s so funny?”

                “Did the cool ninja dude finally pick up a book?” She stepped forward and grabbed it from their hand, “Oh, and a classic. When _I_ was in the fifth grade I could read this.” She thumbed through the pages, still mocking them with a teasing smile, “But you haven’t studied your vocabulary lately, isn’t that right, sister?”

                “Shut up, Hanzo!” They reached for the book, but Hanzo swung out of their grasp.

                “Come get me, Gozen, if you’re not going to study books, you might as well practice sparing.”

                “I’ll fight you!” they piped up, still jumping for the book now held over Hanzo’s head, ponytail swinging like a whip. “And- and-“

                “What’s that, Gozen?” Hanzo said through the smirk.

                “Call me Genji!”

                “Only if you win!”

+

                “What on Earth- _Genji_?” Hanzo blinked, arms crossed, trying to frown, but failing as Genji stepped forward, shaking a hand through their hair. “You said cut it short, but I had not expected _that_.”

                Genji shrugged, “I’m in high school now; this is my year, Hanzo! Leaving my childish ways behind and all that, you know?”

                Hanzo failed to suppress a laugh, “Mhm, yes, cutting your hair down to almost nothing is not childish. Did you tell father?”

                Something in Genji dropped, mouth barely forming the shape for the word before Hanzo’s joking smile turned into a frown. “You didn’t. Did you.”

                “Uh.”

                “And what’s with that sports bra? You say it’s for cosplay, but I’ve never seen you dress up more than a kimono when forced to.”

                “ _Uh._ ”  
                “Is there something you’re not telling me?”

                “Hanzo- listen, there’s a perfectly good explanation-“

                “Are you a lesbian, Genji?”

                “What?” Genji stood back, one shoulder pulled back as if poised to run. They had not expected that.

                Hanzo’s arms were still crossed, her foot almost tapped to the ground in frustration, her socks ugly and pantsuit stuffy as always. Genji looked up at her, realizing that her facial expression would not- _could not_ \- mirror her body language. “Genji, do you like women?”

                They almost gulped in comical fear. “Sure.” Why the hell not. They weren’t lying, but just not- maybe Genji was just not telling the truth well enough. “Yes, I like girls. Boobs!” They raised their hands, trying to make a joke out of it, only to be pulled into a hug by Hanzo.

                “I promise I won’t tell father, you’re my only sister and I love you.”

                “Oh, uh,” Genji sputtered under her grasp, “You too, Hanzo.”

+

                Hanzo pulled the heels off their feet and sighed, the relief instant and well deserved. The day had been long and they had been pulled from class early by an urgent message from Genji. Cryptic and paranoid, a face she only showed once in a blue moon. It was hard to get under Genji’s cool façade, her- now neon green- hair and refusal to wear anything but slick and streamline clothing when not shoved into the traditional sort. When Hanzo managed- much less often now that Genji was becoming a senior this year, they felt proud, like they had solved a puzzle and nostalgia was the prize. But when Genji crawled out on her own free will, then that signaled something catastrophic was dawning. Tonight the three frantic phone calls and almost seventeen- brief, but worried- texts meant something was coming. Hanzo silently prayed that their father wasn’t involved. And yet.

                “Miss Shimada.” A maid bowed, leading her to the room she knew so well to get there. She had not traveled to the hall where her father spent most of his time in, beside their mother’s urn, the open balcony, the night sky, but the path to it was burned in their mind like a branding. It was a room that they and their sister only entered when bad news was on the rise.

                The maid gave another curt bow, Hanzo too pulled in awe to respond, and left them by theirself, the wall, and the talk that laid behind it.

                Genji was already kneeled down in the room, shoulders rigid. She glanced up for a split second, before returning her gaze to the floor. They turned to their father, dressed all in black, a patch of the night lodged in the center of the room. Hanzo bowed to the unmoving figure, than took their place beside Genji. They noticed the space next to him open.

                Beside Genji, Hanzo could feel the worry radiating off of her, her shoulders not as strongly held together as they seemed from the door. Instead, they were shaking. Hanzo wanted to lay their hand on Genji’s back, tell her it would be alright. They were there for each other.

                “Gozen.” The father called out, his voice distant and yet overpowering all at once. Genji arched up, back straight as an arrow, eyes locked ahead, past the man and his frightening eyes. The chosen name had never really stuck for their father like it had for Hanzo.

                “Yes, Father.”

                “Hanzo.”

                “Father.”

                “Let me get straight to the point,” The man said, the room dead silent save for the thunder of his voice, “If one wants to reject their femininity, to wear boy’s clothing and to cut their hair,” Genji looked like she was about to burst, to cry or to scream, Hanzo was not sure, “then so be it. Worse things have come about you.

                “But if you wish to reject the family line and disgrace yourself- to distance yourself from the power and title of the Shimada family, do not bring it into the home, into your room.”

                “I’m sorry, Father, I’m sorry- I-“ Genji fumbled, knuckles white as they clawed at her pants.

                “Be quiet.” He spoke over her hurried voice. Hanzo did not need to look over to know that tears were stinging at her eyes as she feared for every inch of her life. It had to have happened, this-this talk, it was inevitable. Hanzo knew it was well as they knew that birds could fly and humans could not. How could Genji not have seen this? Something clicked in their heart, of course Genji knew this would happen, but the fear of it actualizing was more over powering than the comfort that the night would end. Something else moved in their heart. Something stronger than sympathy. Empathy? Hanzo finally turned their head to look at Genji, tears were rolling down her cheeks.

                “Father,” Hanzo began, testing the waters, “May I ask a question?”

                He nodded.

                “Why am I here?”

                Genji looked up, eyes bloodshot and disgusted. Hanzo internally recoiled at the sight of her face all screwed up in distress, anger, fear. She was trying to tell Hanzo something, but their ability to read each other’s minds had died long ago. Hanzo was left on the other side of a phone with its wire cut.

                “Why do you think?” Not accusatory. _You’re dad’s favorite, you know_. _Dad loves you too! Yeah, sure._

“Are you-“ They looked between Genji and their father again, “Asking if I support her?”

                Another nod.

                So much had been building to this, Hanzo could physically feel a milestone in their lives being dropped onto the ground, crushing and heavy, even Atlas was not strong enough for this burden. It would be so easy to say yes, to stand by Genji, to watch their father have to subside to his children, to continue to love Genji like he always had. But he hadn’t. Genji had contracted a terrible illness as a child and taken their mother. Genji had always hated the formalities of this life, rebelled at every opportunity, every chance. Genji had survived and hated the family for it. If Hanzo could speak their mind, they might have honored what they always knew to be their father’s opinion on the youngest child.

                “No.”

                Genji made a noise like the cats the neighborhood kids would sometimes kick. Sometimes kill. Hanzo felt that globe crush their spine.

                “The family needs heirs. If one of us was unable to have a child, the other would be given the responsibility. We cannot latently throw around these duties. I’m sorry, sister.”

                “You shut your god damned mouth, _Hanzo._ ” Genji’s voice hissed from between her teeth, “You don’t know shit about your duty to this family. You are disgusting, you – you- and _you,_ father, you still hold it in your heart that I killed mother!” Hanzo slipped from their seat, their father remained still. “You believe this is my fault, I’m a- a sick dog you have to keep around. If I wasn’t your child, you would’ve taken me out back and drowned me like a bag of kittens. You would have killed me if mother hadn’t been so fond of me.”

                “Enough, daughter.”

                “Enough? Enough? I’m eighteen, I’ve- I’ve,” Genji stood up, finger held in the air against their father, “I’ve done _everything_ I could for this family, but you never speak to me! You disapprove of everything I do and yet you won’t tell me why! Maybe in a- maybe in another life I could find it in my heart to try and _improve_ my behavior, but you would never respect me anyways. Never call me Gozen again, do you understand?” She growled, “My name is _Genji._ My name is Genji, and I am not your daughter.”

                “You dare-“

                “I am not your daughter!” Genji screamed, their father rose, Hanzo following quickly. “I am not your daughter! Maybe I killed your wife, maybe I did not, but my name is Genji and you will _respect_ that.” The words spat upon the ground, acidic and angry. “It’s Genji and I’m- I’m,” Genji looked at Hanzo, almost asking for help. Hanzo found they knew the words before they left Genji’s lips, “I am a son, I am a man. Call me by such.”

                Genji’s shoulders fell as he limped backwards, almost falling, before giving Hanzo another painful look and bolting out of the room, through the doors, and off of the balcony. The burst of hot summer air chilled Hanzo to the bone. They were frozen in place, in time, not daring to breathe and shatter what was left of their reality. Hanzo exhaled reluctantly and found the room empty, their father out of sight.

+

                The palace was so empty. The halls too big and the courtyards so expansive. Even the closets and stairwells felt huge and lonely. Hanzo’s clothing just didn’t seem to fit right. Nothing was okay, even the sky had grayed into a murky mess of thunderheads. He couldn’t find any words, any ‘good mornings’ or ‘afternoons’, couldn’t sleep with the thought of the words that had left their mouths almost two weeks ago. Genji had fled in a storm and not shown for over ten days. Almost like they were playing hide and seek again, Hanzo tried to laugh, only now Genji was probably gone for real, forever. He hadn’t even finished high school.

                Hanzo couldn’t get the image of Genji alone and freezing to death out of their mind. It wasn’t as if hypothermia was an option, summer was boiling and dehydration was likely a bigger issue, but that picture was symbolic of the actions Hanzo had taken to end up there. One of the maids tried to make a joke, saying he was probably only out playing video games with friends, but Hanzo couldn’t hear her over the constant hurricane in their ears.

                They had dinner in their room every day, breakfast was a meager cup of coffee- tea had long been forgotten next to the comfortable disgusting bitter taste and caffeine- lunch was skipped now. Work was long and exhausting, school was painful at best and outright depressing at worst, and coming home at the end of every day to pass by Genji’s empty bedroom made Hanzo wish they both had never been born. It would have been better that way. Mother would still be alive.

                But he had never really known his mother, not well. So why did she matter so much, even a decade and a half after her passing? Their father had to have moved past her death, but why did she seem to fuel every argument, every dispute? Hanzo knew if Genji was serious about running away, it would take years for their father to recover. They would likely not see his face again until he died. He was an old man anyways. It was Hanzo, all Hanzo, in the house. They were alone with that crushing feeling again- they knew they would be carrying it for a long time this one around. Too long.

                Hanzo passed by a mirror and saw how miserable they looked. Eyes darkened and carrying bags, clothing in a mess- even if they pressed their clothing every morning, Hanzo would still come back looking like they had slept in the outfit. A strand of hair fell into their eyes. For a split second, Hanzo could have sworn it was white. They pulled it back behind their ear and suddenly wished it was cropped shorter. Not like Genji’s, but not this ridiculous mess.

+

                Genji woke with a rough start, the hotel bed creaking underneath him. The old analog clock was hard to make out in the darkness, but read four- am. He sighed and rubbed his eyes, sleep had built up and hurt to push out. His head hurt like hell. He sighed again.

                He had had that dream again. The one where he was dressed in his mom’s pearls, where he could feel the lipstick and eyeliner, the clinking of the beads on each other, the touch of the velvet dress, but as soon as he found a mirror, he saw nothing. There’s no reflection. No boy, no girl, no nothing looking back, just the wall behind him. It was not a nightmare, but he always woke up in cold sweat.

                Did Hanzo get dreams like that?

+

                Petrichor wafted up from the streets as Genji walked through the door into a shop. It had rained for three days straight, and Genji could only eat take out so many times before he thought he would vomit. He picked up an apple and gave it a squeeze. A box of those pre-stale noodles and a pair of low grade chopsticks and he was out. Man, being incognito was _fun._ He hadn’t received any messages from the Shimadas, mostly because he blocked every number he could remember, and even if it was his message to them to leave him alone, it was hard to not feel lonely. He wanted to lay out under the trees in the grass, he wanted to play video games in his room, to spar with Hanzo, he missed Hanzo. He missed him.

                Hanzo had betrayed him, he tried to tell himself, he had stabbed him in the back, hurt him in his weakest moment. His heart raged at the thought, but he still felt like that was missing a part of the story. Hanzo’s promise never extended as far as to a conversation with their father. It was only the promise of loving him because he was Hanzo’s only sister. What happened when he wasn’t her sister? Maybe it was on a technicality, but he couldn’t find it in his heart to blame Hanzo. He knew how she would react to him being missing. He had seen it on her face when they were little. Genji had told himself it was impossible to remember that far back, but he could still picture Hanzo’s eyes wide, brimming with tears, just wandering the palace, lost, afraid, unwilling to speak about it. She got quiet when their mom died. They almost had to put her through speech therapy. If Hanzo had to deal with an unresponsive father, no mother, and a possibly dead brother she had only just betrayed, she’d fall somewhere scary.

                The noodles were as dry as Genji had expected as he scrolled down to Hanzo’s name and unmuted it. He laughed at himself- more of a wry cough than anything- when he saw that Hanzo had not called or texted, hadn’t even emailed. Maybe if she had social media he could see how active she was online, but Genji knew he really didn’t need that to know what was going on. He set a date.

+

                Hanzo knew in their heart of hearts they could not be mad at Genji. But as grief subsided they found themself enraged at the thought of him leaving the family. Of leaving Hanzo. Genji was away from his duty, he had snaked himself out, had found his escape, leaving Hanzo with the rest of his mistakes to deal with. Genji’s birthday passed and there was still no sign. Hanzo’s, only a few days after, slipped by and they found themselves at twenty-one. What an age.

                Genji showed up a week later, looking like trash. He didn’t apologize, and neither did Hanzo. Their father was out of the country.

+

                “He’s dead.”

                The message ended.

+

                The room the argument had happened was cold, the doors left open for the wind to howl through it. Hanzo shook in the breeze, getting tired of this hour, these weeks. Anger had been crawling through this system for months now, every moment not spent dissociating or sleeping spent on the only emotion left inside of them, this sick twisted ire. A storm had been building, threatening on hurricane, the news channels warning all to stay inside, to stock up on food, to hide. But Genji was out somewhere again, probably partying with strangers, Hanzo thought, eyes blackened as they sat cross legged, bow set on their lap.

                They hadn’t made up, hadn’t made eye contact since their father died, since any scraps of good relation between them were utterly obliterated- shingles were flying off the roof. Hanzo stood, taking their bow with them to the balcony that overlooked the garden, the city. They could not hear Genji enter the courtyard as much as they could feel him. Something swelled in their heart, they pushed it away.

                Genji saw Hanzo as soon as he stepped into the open air. There was something in his eyes, acceptance, maybe. Hanzo screamed, ripping the air from their lungs, raw and terrible. It was fear, it was most certainly fear in Genji’s eyes.

                “Fight me.” Hanzo yelled, voice more like a siren than a call.

                They could not tell what Genji said from the balcony, could not tell if Genji said anything. Hanzo drew his bow and shot a perfect arrow, whipping straight past Genji’s face. He flinched, but did not move. So it was a mix of the two, more complicated.

                Hanzo jumped from the balcony into the courtyard, his feet slamming hard into the well manicured grass. The wind hissed around them, thunder booming somewhere in the distance. “You knew this would happen, Genji.”

                Genji didn’t respond.

                “Answer me!” Hanzo screamed again, hair loose and pulling around their face, the rain beginning to come down in sheets. “No heirs, no heirs, we’ll have no heirs. Oh, Genji, you live so comfortably for one who has seen so much pain. How do you manage?” Hanzo’s voice cut clear across the wind. It was like they were possessed; nothing could have charmed Hanzo to speak like this before now. Maybe it was the death. Maybe it was the storm.

                “At least I can speak about myself. You don’t have that comfort.”

                “What’s that supposed to mean?” Hanzo sneered, “You pity me? Aw, so sweet.” They began circling about Genji, like a predator. “How many years have I set aside so much for this family? And now that father dies you barely show your face? You’d leave me with all these troubles? You disgust me, Genji. How did you live for so long?”

                “Are you going to put me out of my misery, then?”

                Hanzo stopped in front of Genji, bow lowered, but poised. “Would you like that?”

                “Do it. Prove your loyalty. You’re a dog and you’ve always known it.” Genji said, “Even now your master is dead, you’ll still pretend like you have to worship him.”

                “Do not speak of Father that way.”

                “You think Dad would have thrown me away, Hanzo? Yeah? He would have done the same to you too. You were only a placeholder, you were only an heir. You want that for those imaginary children you’re obsessed with? Is that what you want?” Genji was screaming too now, but he had no weapons, nothing on him. Hanzo shot.

                It hit Genji above the heart.

                Right thigh, left forearm, kneecap, kneecap, below the neck. Genji was howling in pain as he collapsed to the ground, “Kill me! Kill me! So you can live alone with your shame!”

                Hanzo had never used the dragons on a human before. He had never used the dragons. His father told him they were last resorts, where one put all their being into. He never thought he’d use the dragons. Genji’s cheeks were streaked with tears and as he opened his mouth to scream, blood filled between his teeth. “ _You’re my only sister, Hanzo_.”

                The scream- the incantation- had already been let out before Hanzo knew what was happening, every fiber of their body was ripped apart and sewn back together simultaneously, his heart racing and slowing at the same time, his mind seeing the action from every angle imaginable. The blue dragons swirled from his bow, his arrow, and Hanzo saw death in Genji’s eyes as his skin almost exploded under the power of the localized hurricane, greater than anything the sky could conjure. Hanzo saw every cut bursting on Genji’s skin, fire and lightning screeching and a limb dissipating. The dragons left and Hanzo had one final look at Genji’s dead body, bloodied in every inch of skin, before their body carried Hanzo’s mind off out of the palace, running, running, running.

+

+

+

                It was good to have a body. One that was easy, that was comfortable. One that knew its own strengths, own weaknesses. In this day and age, it was not too hard to find the kind of medical assistance Hanzo needed, at least. Did Genji find what he needed? No.

+

+

                The sharp air of the mountains was breathtaking, along with the view, but not as much as the self worth he found. Genji wondered on occasion about his brother. He always knew that Hanzo was his brother. It had been written in legend. Besides, all those ninjas in video games were guys.

+

                Overwatch wasn’t like a second home to Hanzo. It was home. The palace never really felt like a safe house. But in seedy dorms and impressively empty hallways, it still felt full of laughter and family. Friends, even. Genji looked like he was having a good time.

                Sometimes it was hard to imagine Genji under the suit, to see him as a human. But in some ways, it was almost easier to recognize that body as Genji’s. It was nothing like anything he was before, but somehow, a culmination of every Genji wanted to be. It was even more to know that if he could find peace in a body of armor, he must have made peace with what flesh was still underneath.

                Hanzo wondered if it would be easier if he was half robot too. But when Genji dared him to wear a sleeve down and Hanzo found it almost empowering, he finally understood that the roads they took, even if they ended in nearly the same place, had to be different. Maybe it wasn’t fate, but for Genji to end up a gentle man still full of laughter and jokes, and for Hanzo to warm up to these strangers, it was meant for it to be okay to grow differently.

                It’s one night that Genji was laughing at a story someone’s telling- half English, half in another language all together- that Hanzo smiled again. He hadn’t heard Genji snort- laugh in what seemed like a lifetime, but there he was, probably crying under the mask, someone patting his back in good humor. Hanzo smiled as Genji came up for air, still repressing ugly laughs. They had gone through so much together, so much alone, but all to end up laughing around a campfire with friends. And yet, there was still so much to do, and God, there was so much to do together.


End file.
